A short story - Loss

I got this idea - I want to write a short story. So I did, and while I wrote this (about 15 minutes) I had to hold back tears. I hope it touches you as much as it touched me. Please give me feed back and start following me, I have plans to do more of these.

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1. The only chapter

I felt his hands on me before I saw him. I knew immediately who it was, and I broke into a smile, the frown between my brows straightening out. His arms wrapped around me from behind, his hands resting on my hips, his arms crossing across my belly. His lips pressed at my neck, and I leaned my head back onto his shoulder and looked at the familiar tan on his neck. Pecking a brief kiss onto the delicate skin, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the press of his chest against my back, wondering how I ever could have gone by without it. His arms pulled me closer, and I opened my eyes again, taking in the sharp features of his beautiful face, the sway of his nose, the strong colors of his eyes, and I swear that I was falling for him all over again. I turned around in his embrace, wrapping my own arms around his neck, now getting a full view of his face, the face that had me falling again and again, the mouth that comforted me on the bad days, the eyes that looked at me with such wonder, the dimples that deepened when he smiled at me, just like he did at that moment. “I love you,” he said, and he had rendered me speechless. It was the first time he had ever told me that, and I felt like I was being shot out of a canon, flying in a blue sky of pink clouds. “I love you,” I told him back, and I pulled his head down to kiss his wonderful lips, my fingers ruffling up his hair, but he didn’t mind, because at that time, he was way too caught up in my lips. His hands spread out on my back, pulling me close to him, and I felt my skin burn where he had managed to pull my shirt up and let his fingertips touch the bare skin on my lower back. I knew in that moment that I loved him to death, and that I would never ever want to be without him.

 

The sun was shining, as if mocking the entire party. The grass underneath my shoes was as green as ever, also mocking us, mocking me. I felt hollow and too filled at the same time, and all I could do was to stand there, saying nothing.

When I returned a week later, they had put the stone up. The grass was already crashing through the soft dirt, and as I sank to my knees on it, I felt the emptiness of the last two weeks spill over, and finally, the tears pouring over my cheeks. His name was written in a metallic grey on the sandy stone. His birth date and the day he passed away was written underneath it, and I felt with heavy devastation that I would never again feel the touch of his fingers on my shoulders, the feeling of his arms wrapping around me, his lips pressed tightly to mine, the soft tickling of his eyelashes on my cheek. I was broken, and the same was the stem of the one single flower I was holding. My hands were clutching so hard that I had crushed it, and I felt horror. I had ruined the only gift I could give him now. I put it down in front of the stone carefully, my fingers shaking, choking on my own breath. I forced myself to stand back up, dry my eyes and slowly walk away from the grave of the only person I had ever loved. 

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